A Different Start
by SallyCarefree
Summary: What if Peter Burke didn't want to work with Neal Caffrey but was forced to by Hughes...? Peter doesn't trust Neal and is suspicious all along that Neal is pulling a con. Neal wants to stay out of prison but he gets into difficulties along the way, and of course he doesn't trust Peter either. Both of them will have to work out a way to trust each other.
1. Chapter 1

What if Peter Burke didn't want to work with Neal Caffrey but was forced to by Hughes...?

This story follows the general storyline of the pilot. But there are more twists and turns and some parts of this story diverge from the actual pilot story.

Peter doesn't trust Neal and is suspicious all along that Neal is pulling a con. Neal wants to stay out of prison but he gets into difficulties along the way, and of course he doesn't trust Peter either.

Both of them will have to work out a way to trust each other, solve cases and become friends. Hurt, comfort and whump will be included in later chapters.

... **Prologue** ...

Peter Burke wasn't crazy about meeting Neal Caffrey in prison. But he'd made a deal with the fugitive when he caught him in the deserted apartment a week ago, and he wasn't a man to break his word.

Sitting across from the convict, he listened to his suggestion and shook his head in disbelief. "No way. I caught you — twice. You've already been sentenced to 4 years and now you'll get another sentence for escaping. I believe in our system of justice, where criminals serve their time in prison."

Neal tried to convince the FBI agent, and explained how his experience as a white collar criminal would help the division solve crimes. None of the agents had been able to connect the small fiber they'd found to the new Canadian 100 dollar bill. He had many skills that could complement the Bureau's capability. "Look, Peter, there is a lot of insight you can get from me if I work as your CI."

The FBI agent wasn't impressed. "Yeah, Caffrey, you've been an inmate for almost 4 years. And you know about the fiber for a brand-new foreign bill. If that's telling me anything, it's that you are still a criminal and I can't trust you. Forget about any tracking anklets. I'm not interested in hiring you as a CI. 'CI' means confidential informant, not criminal inmate. My life is easier by far when you are behind bars."

The felon gave it one more try. "Peter, I can help you catch the Dutchman. You've been chasing him for years. You want to solve the case and send the file to the archives, and I can make that happen."

Agent Burke smiled. "I will catch him and I won't need your help to do it. When I've caught him, he'll be sent to jail and you might become prison pen pals. Apart from that, you won't be involved at all with him."

After rejecting Caffrey's proposal, he made his farewell and called the guards to tell them the visit was over.

Neal was left alone in the meeting room. Damn it! He had hoped the outcome of this get-together would be different. But he wouldn't be one of the best con men in the world if he gave up so easily. There was always a contingency plan. When he returned to his cell he fetched his stationery—which was made from hand-made paper, of course. Even being in prison didn't mean he had to abandon his sense of style.

... 3 days later at the FBI ...

Jones looked into Peter Burke's office. "Peter? Hughes wants to talk to you."

The agent wondered if there was a new assignment for him. He walked over to meet the head of the department. He entered the office and took a seat in front of his superior. While they were making small talk, Peter noticed an expensive-looking letter lying on the desk. The handwriting seemed elegant. There was a matching envelope, too, revealing that it was sent from a federal penitentiary.

Peter decided it was time to cut the idle talk. "Reese, Jones told me you wanted to talk to me? What's up?"

"Peter, I heard you visited Neal Caffrey in prison this week. Tell me about it."

Agent Burke let him in on the deal that had been proposed, which he'd declined. "You can't trust this felon, and we don't need him to solve our cases."

The senior agent was frowning. "Our closure rate went down considerably last month. The month before wasn't any better, and I don't see the trend reversing yet. You know the big shots are discussing sending someone in from Washington to give us guidance in 'making managerial decisions'. We need to stay under the radar and don't need any additional decline in our rates. I don't want to draw their attention to the White Collar division. Every now and then there are discussions about restructuring the division. We need to raise the rate to squelch these ideas."

Peter Burke got a bad feeling that the letter, his visit to Neal Caffrey, and his boss's words were connected in a way he most likely wouldn't appreciate.

Hughes picked the letter up and held it in his hands while he continued. "I guess we could take advantage of this deal. We could try to work with Caffrey as a CI in the Dutchman case, see if he can help find a new approach. I know your team is the best, and we've had a lot of success in recent years. But maybe our agents are sometimes a bit too linear. We might need someone who thinks like a criminal himself to track one. Someone like this young convict who is able to think outside the box."

Peter could feel the anger rising. "That son of a bitch went behind my back and sent a letter to you promising you the moon. I don't trust him. This is one of his cons. He's trying to con us into letting him out of prison. As soon as he's out, he will run. Or plan another heist under the nose of the FBI."

His superior tried to calm him down. "I don't trust him either. And that's why you're the only person who could act as his handler. He's slick. I can't assign him to one of the younger agents. They would be no match for a felon of Caffrey's ilk. But you see through his cons and won't fall for any of his tricks. Keep him on the straight and narrow. Make sure he follows the rules. And use his skills to catch the Dutchman. I need the case solved for my quarterly report."

Peter Burke had worked for his boss for many years; he could read the signs that the decision was already made and there was no way to change the mind of the man in front of him. He gave in and tried to set some basic rules in order minimize the risks. "Ok, then. We need to make sure he gets the best tracking anklet available. 100% tamper-proof. High availability. Most precise GPS technology with signal amplifier. And he'll be restricted to a limited radius when he's not with me; I don't want him wandering freely through New York at night."

Hughes nodded in agreement. "Right. We have to make some housing arrangements for him, find some cheap hotel inside Manhattan, no more than $700 a month. Let's contact the Marshals' office to get the tracking anklet. You can pick up Caffrey and make sure he knows the rules, and the consequences if he breaks one of them."

"What are the consequences if he violates the rules?"

Hughes gave him a stern look. "Peter, I am not a fool. If he doesn't play by the rules he'll be back behind bars without further ado."

Peter was relieved. After chasing the con man for many years, he was pretty sure that it wouldn't take long until said con man would start to breach the terms of the contract he'd have to sign. That would be the moment when this team assignment forced upon him would find a sudden end.

... Some weeks later ...

Peter Burke was leaning against his car when his new CI passed through the prison gates. "You understand how this works?"

Neal Caffrey looked like a cat that had got the cream. He lifted his trouser leg to display that the anklet was already in place. I'm being released into the custody of the FBI, under your supervision, and this thing chafes my leg. Anything I'm missing? "

The FBI agent growled, "Yeah, if you run, and I catch you, which you know I will because I'm 2 and 0, you're not back here for four years, you're back here for good. When you're off duty, there's a two mile radius around your new home. If you leave the radius, the Marshals will be alerted automatically—they have a response time of 5 minutes—then you'll be walked through those gates right behind you in the opposite direction. After 10 p.m. you have to stay in your motel: no late night excursions. I'm your handler and you do whatever task I assign you. You asked for this deal so live with it. If you lie to me, if you try to con me, if you do anything illegal, what will be the consequences?" He waited for his new team member to answer.

"Yeah, I get it. I'll be back in prison in no time at all, and serve my time behind bars. But if I help you catch the Dutchman, we can make this permanent?"

Peter Burke sighed. "It's an option. We'll take this step by step. Let's get to work."

... To be continued

**Author's note:**

I am very glad that I have found a wonderful **beta** reader for this story. **mam711** **did great work**, and a lot of it.

Therefore, this story should be less Pidgin English than my last stories have been... And less confusing because she is a really good beta hand helped me to find and fix some logic inconsistencies.

Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

Peter arrived early the next morning to pick Neal up at the cheap motel where the FBI had booked him a room. Of course, the spoiled con man had tried to wheedle him into upgrading the housing arrangements when he dropped him off the evening before. Well, there wasn't a wide choice of hotels available for $700, and that had cut the discussion short.

The FBI agent was dumbfounded when he was told Caffrey had moved the night before. He was seriously upset when he arrived at the elegant residence at Riverside Drive, and he vented his anger towards the smirking cartoon figure. "You know that you are going back to prison for this breach of the rules. I hope you've enjoyed your one night in freedom and luxury."

Instead of being appalled, the convicted criminal gave him an innocent look. "You said if I find a nice place for the same price, I should take it."

Peter was embarrassed. "I did say that. All this for seven hundred?" Even though Agent Burke wasn't happy with this new housing arrangement, he had to recognize that those had been his own words the previous evening.

The monitoring regulations he had set with the Marshals didn't include the nightly curfew. They only checked if he was inside the given radius. They weren't very flexible regarding exceptions to the general monitoring policies. He had agreed with Hughes that it would be sufficient if one of the FBI agents kept an eye on Caffrey's nightly movements. He was angry with himself that he hadn't taken care of the task himself and hadn't even given unambiguous orders to Jones or Diana. If the con man had stayed at home, he hadn't violated the rules – even though his home was not where the agent expected it to be.

He would have to agree to it and admit defeat – for as long as Caffrey's guest performance as CI lasted.

Peter Burke had to go to JFK. The security staff there had arrested a book dealer who might be able to reveal information leading to the Dutchman. And they were waiting for the FBI to interrogate the suspect.

Needless to say, he wouldn't be taking an escape artist with connections to criminals all over the world to an international airport. He was willing to take some risks to solve the Dutchman case, but those risks had to be reasonable.

Neal spent the morning together with Jones poring over old Dutchman files. Peter had given him some documents last night and he had done his homework thoroughly. From his former 'work experience' he had learned that information was the critical factor for any successful operation. He absorbed all the details of the Dutchman case, and tried to connect them to get the big picture.

Peter and Diana returned after lunch to the office. Shortly after, several hundred Spanish copies of 'Snow White and Her Seven Little Men' arrived. Their suspect had been killed before they were able to draw information from him, and the books made no sense at all. Both agents were pretty annoyed.

The consultant needed to take only a quick look at the old hardback books. "They're not limited runs or special editions. Can't be worth much."

Peter Burke was puzzled. "So why go through all the trouble of flying them in? Got a dead book dealer, a killer lawyer, and a bunch of worthless books. All right, come on, as a reformed professional counterfeiter, what is the Dutchman's interest in these?"

Neal was checking the books inside and out. They were in good condition. He felt the paper and held it against the light. But there were no marks visible and no hidden message or artwork appeared. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He took a thin ruler and slid it carefully under the top sheet.

Peter Burke was intrigued. "Top sheet?"

Neal was still engaged in extricating the paper carefully. "No, it's more than that. This is a piece of 1944 Spanish press parchment."

Diana developed the thought. "He's going to counterfeit something that was originally printed on paper like that."

The ex-criminal nodded absent-mindedly. "That's what I would do."

Peter Burke got a sick feeling in his stomach. Of course, if there was an opportunity for a crime, Caffrey would find it. This man before him was a criminal, no doubt about it. It was just not right that he was sitting side by side with some of the FBI's best agents to solve a case. He forced himself to concentrate on the evidence. "During the previous weeks he had imported approximately 600 copies. Too many for paintings, not enough for currency. I bet our dead book dealer knew. Diana, where's that wallet?"

They found out that the book dealer had gone to the National Archive the day before he left for Spain. It was late now and the archive was already closed. They would have to postpone the investigation to the next morning.

The team called it a day. Peter was glad when he reached home and was greeted by his wife. Over dinner he filled her in on the events of the day. "I was really pissed off this morning when I found out that he'd left the motel and moved in with a rich old lady. This is just not right. You would have marveled at that view over Manhattan from the rooftop yourself. I work hard, I do my job well, and I don't have a 10 million dollar view of Manhattan. He should serve his time in prison and not be sipping espresso in the clouds."

El was smiling. "That sounds like a smart move. He got what he wanted without breaking your rules. You can't really blame him. You like smart."

Her husband gave her an irritated look. "You should have seen him in this Rat Pack suit. Wearing a hat like Dean Martin himself. Honestly, El, it looked as if he had stepped right out of a movie from the sixties in his Devore and fedora. This is not how an FBI consultant should look." His wife of many years knew he would need some time to adjust to his new partner. Whose obviously extravagant fashion style wasn't helping to speed up the adjustment process. But given the necessary time her husband would come to terms with the consultant and acknowledge his skills.

Neal was enjoying his trip home; he walked all the way home to his apartment. There were a cold breeze and fresh air, honking of cars and people talking, smells of hot dog stands and perfume and all the different colors of trees, clothes and the blue sky above. His soul has been starving for these sensuous impressions during the four years he was locked up. A passage from a book he had read a long time ago crossed his mind. "Once more I am roaring drunk with the lust of life and adventure and unbearable beauty..."

He stayed within his radius but took every possible detour. If he could convince Peter to make their deal permanent he would visit all those museums and galleries, the theaters and even the zoo. Today, he settled for window shopping and strolling among all those attractions.

It was already dark and getting late. He had to return home unless he wanted to break one of Agent Burke's rules. And he had no intentions of doing that.

When he entered the dark house he was instantly on alert. There was a shadow in the back of the hall and he heard a sound. Neal grabbed a cane from the umbrella stand to defend himself.

"I saw the best minds in my generation get run down by the drunken taxicab of absolute reality."

The con man smiled, relieved, and turned on the light. "The hell, Mozzie. Sitting in the dark, misquoting Ginsburg? Thanks for coming..."

Both men exchanged an affectionate look. Mozzie's voice didn't reveal how glad he was that his young friend was finally out of prison. He had been sadly missing him for all those years. "What was I going to do? Not come? Can I see?"

Neal heaved his leg on a chair and displayed the tracker. His former partner in crime was an expert in all sorts of electronic devices. If there was anyone in the world who was able to crack the lock it would be Mozzie.

The small man got his tool set and a magnifying glass out of his pocket. He took a close look at the anklet and finally applied the lock pick very carefully. Suddenly, the green LED turned off and instead a red one started blinking frenziedly.

Neal was shocked. "Stop, Mozzie. Now! That's not good." As soon as his friend removed the lock pick the green LED came back on. The CI was relieved. If Peter Burke suspected he was tampering with the anklet ... that would be his express ticket back to prison. He explained the details and the small print of his deal with the FBI to his longtime friend.

Mozzie was worried. "In that case we shouldn't take any risks. You'll have to adjust to this jewelry. But listen: I wouldn't be surprised if the Marshals show up any second. Probably they received an alarm signal when I disrupted the electrical contacts."

Mozzie left through the back door. Neal rushed up to his apartment and changed into pajamas. He switched off the lights and rumpled the bed sheets. In fact, it didn't take long until the Marshals turned up. They met a drowsy man whom they obviously had woken from sleep with their knocking. The inspection of the anklet didn't show any damage or signs of tampering. They assumed it must have been a false alarm. They called Peter Burke, who was registered as handler in charge, to inform him of the incident on their way back.

Peter was fuming when he received the information. "I can't believe it, El. This is his second day out and he's already trying to pick the tracker and run. That son of a bitch. I am going to send him back where he came from first thing tomorrow morning."

"But the Marshals told you it was a false alarm. These things can happen. Don't you remember how many false alarms we had when we got our alarm system installed?"

"We're talking about Neal Caffrey. Nothing happens by chance when he's involved. You can be certain he has just tried to pick the lock, found out it's not possible, and conned the Marshals into believing he was innocent."

"Peter, you can't prove that. Innocent until proven guilty. Just give him a fair chance. Talk to him without ruffled feathers or excitement and find out what really happened tonight. Why don't you sleep on it? I believe in the morning you'll begin to see the light."

The FBI agent felt certain that Caffrey had crossed the line, but he had to acknowledge that it would be difficult to convince Hughes without proper evidence.

... to be continued

Author's note:

Sorry, it took so long to post this chapter! I won't give any lame excuses. It just didn't work out.

Thanks to all of your encouraging remarks regarding the prologue. I hope you'll like the story.


	3. Chapter 3

Neal was even 5 minutes early when he arrived at the office the next morning. He was very pleased with himself. Before he could settle at the desk he'd been given, Peter called him. Neal went upstairs to his handler's office. "Good morning, Peter."

"Caffrey, close the door and take a seat." The FBI agent was sitting at his desk, and looked Neal right in the face. "Last night you tried to disable the tracker. You might have conned the Marshals. But I know you better than that."

His consultant tried to interrupt him and shammed being innocent. "I didn't touch it."

His handler cut him short. "Shut up and listen. This is the very last warning you get. If you don't play by the book you're out. I am not going to take any of your crap. I own you as long as we're working this case. From now on you'll follow my orders right down to the last detail. And you should be aware that I don't need to present irrefutable proof of your misdeed to send you back; there won't be any court hearing to seal your fate. The only thing I have to do is make one single phone call. And believe me, that number is on speed dial in my mobile. Do you get this?"

The silence stretched out for a couple of seconds. Neal swallowed hard. His blue eyes showed no emotion even though he was in an inner turmoil. This was not the time for charm and bravado—his freedom was at stake. "Yes, sir."

Peter nodded. "Ok, then let's drive to the National Archive to find out what our dead book dealer had been looking for."

It didn't take long until they identified the Spanish Victory Bond as the object of interest. At first, the FBI agent didn't believe his consultant when he claimed the bond to be a forgery. But forgery was Caffrey's area of expertise and he presented compelling evidence for his bold assertion. Burke was reluctant to state the obvious. "You're starting to earn your 700 a month."

Back in the office, they met with Jones and Diana. The four of them brainstormed ideas of how to connect the 600 top and bottom sheets from the books to the obviously forged bond. Neal considered the facts they already knew from every angle. Eventually, it dawned on him. "Is the bond still negotiable?"

Peter knew the answer, of course. "It's a zero option, so it never expires. What's it worth?" The consultant calculated the current market value based on face value and interest rate, compounded over 64 years. He got the results quicker by mental math than Jones using his pocket calculator. Both of the younger agents were impressed.

Neal surpassed their expectations even further. "If those boxes with the bonds were recovered from the caves in Spain they would have been taken to the archives and compared to the original for authentication. Which he's already switched out with one of his own copies."

His handler was intrigued. "So of course they'd match. Oh, this is good. This is really good. All right, let's think about this."

Diana offered to get them some fresh coffee to refuel their energy. When she took the orders she gave Neal an inquiring look. He remembered the first time he had asked her for some coffee very vividly. And had no intention of repeating that experience, and being met with a harsh rebuff. Therefore, he remained silent. "Come on, Neal, how do you take your coffee? After this accomplishment you at least deserve a decent cup." He flashed his best smile at her.

They worked for the rest of the day to come closer to the man behind the scheme. But when the agents were ready to leave in the evening they still weren't able to put a name to the Dutchman.

Peter didn't regret the decision he'd made this morning to keep Caffrey on his team instead of sending him back to prison for his attempt to tamper with the anklet. Maybe Hughes was right and the convicted felon could actually help them to solve the case. Still, the con man needed a bit of encouragement to keep working on the right side of the law, and use his time and skills to clear up crimes instead of committing them.

"Caffrey, we need to get the names of forgers who would be able to pull a crime like this. Keep on working, do some research."

His phone was ringing. Elizabeth! Peter winced and whisked everyone out of the conference room. "Hey. Would you believe me if I said I was pulling up in front of the house now?" He had promised to be home for dinner. If both of their jobs permitted, they had a nice and cozy evening together on Fridays, enjoyed a meal, and sometimes a movie afterwards. Now he was already late. He decided to leave at once. There was nothing else they could today to solve the case.

Neal went to the filing cabinets to start his research. Diana had a date with her girlfriend and Jones had basketball tickets. Therefore, both of them left half an hour later. They were pretty sure that Neal had left together with their boss. On the way down the elevator they discussed appreciating Caffrey's contribution to the Dutchman investigation. And they wondered how long he would be able to stay a member of the team before Peter threw him back in prison. Jones bet a fiver that he wouldn't make it longer than a week; Diana put her money on 3 weeks.

Neal had enjoyed the morning at the National Archive and the afternoon they spent in the office uncovering the scheme of the crime. Even though he was working for the FBI now, it had felt a bit like old times when he was devising a scheme for an operation. But he was still scared stiff from his encounter with Peter Burke in the morning. His handler left no doubt that he was expecting his consultant to comply with his rules 100%. And that he wouldn't settle for less.

Burke had told him to keep on working, doing research on forgers to take into consideration. Did he mean today or in general? Everyone else had gone home. No one would expect him to stay alone at the office all night, or would they? He was hungry: breakfast had been a short affair with a cup of coffee and a croissant, and in the course of the investigation he had skipped lunch. June has invited him for dinner and he was looking forward to an evening with classy food and pleasant chatter in her elegant drawing room.

But what if his handler was testing him...? He might have given him the instruction to keep on working to find out if he was willing to actually comply with the rules. And if he went home, and returned on Monday morning to finish working, he'd have failed the test and be sent back.

Or even worse, Burke was cunning. What if he had set a trap to get rid of him? He might expect that the irresponsible felon would go home and take the weekend off. Monday morning all hell would break loose. Con man refuses to cooperate, rejects a command: let's send him back where he belongs, wearing orange jumpsuits. If Burke played that card, Hughes wouldn't object.

Neal couldn't read his handler's character. Was he dealing fairly or was he backstabbing him? But —to quote Mozzie—'Paranoia is a skill, the secret to longevity.' Neal sighed. Going back to prison was just not an option for him; he wouldn't take any chances. The stakes were too high.

June was very sympathetic when she heard why their dinner had to be postponed. "Don't worry, my dear. We'll make it another day. When I lived with Byron, I could never be sure if he would be able to keep an appointment. But if he had to stand me up, it was always for a good reason." She smiled at the memory of the love of her life and their eventful time together. "You are absolutely right to do everything to stay free. I don't want to lose my charming tenant soon."

The CI returned to his desk and got started with the research. He examined the painting on the forged bond thoroughly, a Goya. He didn't have access to all FBI data but the computer login they'd given him allowed restricted access to the database. Hence, he would be able to gather some of the less confidential information.

Neal hadn't made a breakthrough yet. He was tired and hungry. He had already drunk more coffee than his stomach would tolerate. To keep his glucose level up he had sweetened the coffee heavily. In his former criminal career all-nighters were part of the job description. These dark hours between midnight and sunrise were more often than not hard to cope with. He wished he could open a window to get some fresh air and was thinking back on all the night watches he had spent together with Mozzie ... or Kate. He couldn't start thinking about Kate right now; it would throw him off the track completely.

Doing an all-nighter was easier if there was someone around to keep you awake and alert. Mozzie was a good partner. Thinking about night watches, it was inevitable to remember 'The Night Watch' —the famous painting by Rembrandt. That had been a story! Well, reminiscing about his past had to wait for a more suitable time and place. Right now he had to concentrate on the forgery in front of him.

The sun had risen already when the consultant finally connected the dots. This was a Goya painting, superbly forged, and he knew only a handful of experts who were able to deliver this kind of work.

There it was! At first, he wasn't sure if his fatigued eyes were playing tricks on him. But then he confirmed the initials in the forgery. Only a real expert would be able to hide them in the pattern of the peasant's pants. C. H. Curtis Hagen. It must have been him.

Peter Burke woke up early on Saturday morning. As usual, he got up and dressed to fetch some pastries for weekend breakfast. Before he left the house he checked Caffrey's tracking data.

He had checked the data yesterday evening after dinner. Caffrey had been still working at the office The agent took this as a good sign that Neal took the telling-off he had been given that morning to heart. Putting in some extra hours wouldn't do him any harm.

What the hell...? The anklet was still located at the FBI building and it has been there all night. What scam was going on? Had Neal been able to drop the anklet without activating the alarm? Or was he trying to nose out confidential FBI data? He decided to go to the office to find out and catch him in the act – better to not give him a warning by phone.

The FBI agent opened the glass door and was relieved to see his consultant standing next to his desk holding his coat in his hands and waiting for the computer to shut down. He wouldn't have wanted to spend the day chasing a fleeing convict. "Caffrey, what are you doing and why didn't you leave the office last night?"

Neal looked up. "Obeying your order, Agent Burke? You told me to keep on working to find out who forged the bond. That's what I've been doing. Don't worry. I'm only leaving because I've solved it." He wasn't up for a confrontation. The night had been long and he was exhausted. He hoped Peter wasn't starting a quarrel or trying to use this all-night shift against him.

The senior agent was taken aback. He hadn't expected anything like this. Could his motives actually have been sincere? He gave the young man a closer look. He was wearing the same suit as yesterday. His shirt was crumpled and the tie just not as meticulously tied as usual. His face looked ashen, the eyes tired. "Don't tell me you thought I expected you to pull an all-nighter while I went home and called it a day? You can't be serious."

The consultant just shrugged his shoulders.

"Did you get something to eat? We didn't take a lunch break yesterday."

"Nope, I was going to stop over on my way home to get a bagel. That's unless you have some other plans for me." He hoped Peter wouldn't expect him to start chasing Hagen right now. He needed a break. Wait, he hadn't told Peter about Curtis Hagen yet!

When Peter learned about the breakthrough, he was once more pleasantly surprised.

He decided it was time for a little reward. "Come on. I know where you can get the best breakfast in New York, with fancy pastries, fresh pancakes, and the best bacon and eggs you've ever tasted."

Neal was still suspicious regarding his handler's motives. But he sat back, relaxed in the passenger seat, although he didn't cherish great expectations regarding the quality of the breakfast. Peter Burke's taste in food was—euphemistically phrased—down-to-earth.

When they crossed Brooklyn Bridge he asked his handler where they were heading. "Told you. Best breakfast in town. My wife is an excellent cook." Wow. Invited to Burke's home. He hadn't seen that coming.

When he met Elizabeth Burke he liked her on the spot. She seemed to be a nice and caring person, easy to socialize with, and she made him feel welcome without reserve. He would have understood if she'd been unnerved meeting a convicted felon in her own house on a Saturday morning without prior notice. But she seemed to be totally at ease. He wondered how Burke had won a woman like her. She seemed to be way too nice for a control freak like him.

Neal smiled as he heard how she commanded her husband to put a third setting on the table, and he smiled even more as he observed how said husband hurried to comply. While El was preparing the pancakes, Neal entertained her and Peter by telling the elaborate story of how he had identified Curtis Hagen as the alleged forger. Peter Burke was once more astonished at how Caffrey could switch from an exhausted and overworked man to this amusing entertainer in a matter of seconds. It was hard to tell if he was really enjoying this family breakfast or if he was just putting on an act.

El put the pancakes on the plates. Without giving it a second thought, El took the maple syrup bottle and squeezed a smiley on each pancake. Neal stared at his plate and seemed to be petrified. "How did you know?"

El was confused and looked from Neal to Peter. "Sorry, sweetie, I didn't mean to upset you. I wasn't really thinking about it. It's a kind of joke between Peter and me. When I met his mom for the first time, she was still making a smiley on his pancake even though he was in his thirties. Since then I tease him with these pancake smileys."

Her husband couldn't understand the strange reaction of his consultant either. "Neal, you don't have to eat it if you don't want. El will understand."

Neal nodded silently a couple of times and a faint smile appeared on his face. This smile was much less radiant than his usual con man megawatt smile but it seemed to be authentic and made him look young and vulnerable. "No, it's ok. It just reminded me of someone in my childhood who used to draw a syrup smiley on my pancake. I'd almost forgotten that. But it's a good memory. Is it ok if I start eating? I'm starving and it smells delicious."

El was sympathetic. "Your mother, I guess." Neal's smile deepened. "No, not my mom. But very close."

All three of them were enjoying the food and chatting about childish habits. Neal was thinking back to those days when he was young. His mom had had dark moods. And there had been times, many times to be honest, when she had been too tired or sad to rise in the morning and take care of her son. On these occasions, Ellen moved in for a couple of days. She made breakfast for the young boy, walked him to school and told him funny stories to cheer him up. When he came home from school she had cooked a meal and they talked about the things he learned during the day. Ellen encouraged him to paint and provided him with a rich supply of crayons and sketch pads. She has given him unconditional love and comfort for all those years. But he kept these memories to himself. He knew that there was nothing in his own case file about him before the age of 18 and he wanted it to stay that way. What the FBI didn't know about him they couldn't use against him.

Neal had to admit that it has been a really good breakfast. Finally, none of them was able to eat one more bite.

Peter Burke offered to drive his consultant home. "No thanks, Peter. I can take a taxi. You can spend the rest of the day with your lovely wife."

"Ok then. You have 45 minutes until you have to be inside of your two-mile radius. That enough time for you?"

"Absolutely. Thanks for the extraordinary breakfast. See you on Monday."

... to be continued

AN:

The next chapters are already written. But they need to be beta read. Therefore, I'd like to ask you for a bit of patience ...


	4. Chapter 4

Neal spent the rest of the weekend enjoying his temporary freedom. He went out and checked how far the two-mile radius stretched. He wanted to make sure that - in case of need - he knew how far he could go without raising the alarm. He also checked for traffic junctions and transportation hubs at the far end of the radius. Not that he had any plans to run, but if it became necessary to cut the anklet and disappear he would want to do that someplace where a quick exit was possible and the Marshalls couldn't anticipate where he'd go.

Peter spent the weekend with his wife, but never ceased to monitor the con man's movements. He wasn't amused when he observed the systematic approach Neal took to explore the two mile radius. He had been chasing the criminal for many years and knew his way of thinking and acting. This wasn't just an extended stroll to enjoy the scenery; Caffrey was spying out the environment and probably taking precautions to run. But Peter had to admit that he stayed inside the radius all the time and was at home before 10 p.m. Therefore, he concluded that Caffrey had no actual plans to run off, but was getting prepared. The agent would definitely be on guard.

On Monday morning, Peter's team had started to look for further evidence to connect Hagen to the Dutchman crimes, but it proved to be a difficult task. It seemed as if the forger hadn't left any trace. So far, they were not even able to find out where he was currently located.

Nevertheless, Hughes was very impressed with the progress in the investigation they'd made. Usually he was rather sparing with praise, but this time he went over and joined the team to acknowledge their investigative work. Neal was beaming with delight and pointed out the initials he had found to the head of the department himself. This Caffrey show-off incurred Burke's disapproval. Yes, the con man had spotted the initials on the bonds. He wouldn't deny that. But that had still been a very tenuous lead and it wouldn't hold up in court. The FBI agent was eager to proceed with the investigations and track down Hagen.

Jones and Diana gathered information on Curtis Hagen. So far, he had never been convicted of any crime. He had made himself a name as a restorer of old paintings and seemed to be specialized in tapestries. He had been suspected for forgery twice during the last five years, but he couldn't be convicted and the charges against him had been dropped. Both cases were still unsolved. Apparently, he was quite skilled at concealing his trail and didn't make wanton mistakes.

Neal could contribute some additional information regarding Hagen that was not in the files. But still, in the evening they weren't any closer to him than they had been in the morning. The con man was disappointed that the investigative work proved to be so drawn-out.

Neal had hoped for a quick success to prove his value to the Bureau and seal his CI contract permanently.

He walked home lost in his thoughts. It was interesting to see a crime from the opposite viewpoint for a change. As a criminal, he had always tried to foresee the next steps the police or FBI were going to take, but he could only guess on their way of doing things. Now he had some firsthand experience. You never knew when you could need that kind of information...

Suddenly, he became suspicious. Right in front of June's residence there was a black van. He hadn't seen the van before and it didn't fit in the neighborhood. His instincts told him to watch out.

He had to cross in front of the van to reach the entrance of the house. As he did so, the door of the van slid open and two men jumped out. One held a Taser and attacked him immediately. 'Damn it' were his last thoughts before he passed out. It was a matter of seconds to tase Neal, drag him into the van and close the doors.

Caffrey woke up with a serious headache. He was crouched on the floor of the van. The light hurt his eyes and his hands were tied behind his back. He checked his anklet and was relieved to find the green light still on.

"Top of the morning to you. Monster headache, right? It'll pass. No need to worry ... yet."

The con man was frightened when he heard the voice. He knew the man. This spelled trouble.

"Wilkes. Haven't seen you in a while; how are you doing?" He gave the man, who was staring at him, a wary smile.

Neal doubled over and groaned when Wilkes' fist hit him hard in his stomach. "Seeing you again, Neal, brings back all these old feelings."

The con man tried to appear unimpressed. "You wanted to meet me for lattes, you could've just called."

Wilkes wasn't fooled. "This way's better. Pretty good, right? Come on; show me your new residence."

One of the thugs held the keys to June's house in his hands. They must have taken them while he was passed out. The thugs grabbed his arms and dragged him up to the main entrance, through the front door and finally upstairs to his apartment. He was dropped on a chair.

The two goons secured the doors to the staircase and the rooftop. Wilkes stood in front of the seated man.

"I came to jog your memory," he said. "You still have something in your possession which belongs to me."

"I told you back then that I didn't steal the Monet. And that hasn't changed. Being in prison for four years is quite an obstacle when you plan to break into a museum."

Wilson hit him again. This time he punched him into the face. "Wrong answer. That's what you told me four years ago. But you took the money."

Neal felt blood running down his face but couldn't wipe it off because his hands were tied. "I haven't taken your money," he said. "One of your partners must have betrayed you. I checked the National Gallery in Washington, but its security arrangements are far too sophisticated. I canceled the deal and left without your money."

"You're wasting your breath! You owe me something. Now it's payback time. Either you hand over the five hundred grand or the 'Woman with a Parasol'. Normally I kill people for that sort of thing, but today's your lucky day: you get to make it up to me. I'll be content with the forgery you've created instead of the original painting."

Neal was at a loss. "I've never painted it."

Wilkes wasn't impressed. "Then do it now."

Neal's mind was reeling. If he started forging a painting, sooner or later the FBI would pick up his trail. Given Peter Burke's mistrust, in combination with his investigative skills, it would be sooner rather than later... He wouldn't risk his freedom for some old acquaintance. Maybe Mozzie had an idea how to get rid of Wilkes. Right now, he wouldn't make any concession.

"I can't. I won't be able to forge it without studying the original."

Wilkes uncuffed him. "I'll give you a week to think it over," he said. He pulled the con man up. "Come on, Caffrey, be a good host and see me off." With these words he moved to the door, shoving his captive along.

He stopped at the staircase, flashed a vicious smile and pushed Neal. The con man tumbled and fell down the stairs. His head knocked the wall several times and his limbs hit the stairs repeatedly. He came to a halt at the bottom feeling completely battered.

"A week. That's all you've got," Wilkes said.

Neal was still sitting at the bottom of the stairs when Mozzie came to visit him.

"Are you okay?" his friend asked. He was clearly alarmed.

"I don't know," Neal said. "I guess nothing is broken. I can move my arms and legs, even though it hurts like hell."

"What happened to you?"

"Wrong question. Who happened to me would be the right one... It was Wilkes." Neal tried to get up.

Mozzie was alarmed. "Wilkes! Is he still upset because of the Monet?"

"That's one way of putting it. He was very upset when I told him that I have neither the painting nor the money. He was even more upset when I told him that I won't forge the 'Woman with a Parasol'. Give me a hand and help me upstairs." With the help of his friend, the injured man was able to climb the stairs.

Mozzie was distressed. "Doesn't it strike you as insane to annoy Wilkes again? You know he likes guns - and hurting people?"

His friend didn't appreciate the comment. "Thanks for your concern, Moz. Right now, I have more urgent concerns. I can't go to the Bureau tomorrow looking black and blue all over."

He tried to clean his wounds and inspected the parts of his body which hurt most. He was relieved to confirm no bones were broken, but without a doubt there would be bruises and he would feel the pain for a couple of days. He put ice packs on his face and hand to suppress swelling. Burke would be suspicious if he went to the office with a black eye or bruised cheekbone.

Both men were discussing Wilkes' threat and possible ways to deal with it. They didn't come to a conclusion. Neal's head was buzzing. He needed rest.

"Moz, let's call it off for today. I need a break."

Peter Burke checked the GPS data for the fifth time that evening. His wife was getting annoyed.

"Let's see if I understand your worries correctly," Elizabeth said. "Because Neal stayed one night at the office and has changed his housing arrangements to another location in the first night, you are suspicious about what he's up to tonight."

Her husband nodded absentmindedly. "Yep, he's planning something."

"And because he went home today directly after work and hasn't left the apartment ever since you are ... worried?"

"That's just not his usual behavior. All the other days, he didn't stay at home. He's not the type who sits on his sofa, watches TV and enjoys dinner at home. He wants to lull me into a sense of security and once I feel assured, he'll strike." Peter could tell from her face that his wife wasn't convinced. "It's a working theory."

"Keep on working. Isn't it possible that Neal just wants to stay on the safe side and keep the rules you've set for him because he wants to remain free? Anyway, I'm tired and going to bed."

Neal Caffrey stood in front of the mirror early the next morning and examined his face. There were bruises on his left cheek and a graze at the brow. He hoped Agent Burke would buy his story. He was going to tell him he fell down the stairs while he carried a heavy box for June. His landlady would back up his alibi. But still, he was in an anxious state of mind when he was thinking about his encounter with his handler.

... to be continued

AN:

Thanks a lot to my new beta reader VoicesInTheWind. I am very glad about her great support.


	5. Chapter 5

... Tuesday morning ...

The consultant arrived at work on time. After saying hello to Diana, he vanished to the filing cabinet and dug deep into old files.

Later on, Peter Burke was looking for him. "Diana, Jones, where is Caffrey?"

Diana knew where to look for him. "He's looking into old files to search for a trace to Hagen, Boss. What happened to his face?"

The senior FBI agent was worried. "I have no idea," he said. "What's wrong with his face?"

"Don't know; looks bruised."

Peter Burke went to the filing cabinet to see for himself. "Caffrey, what happened to your face?"

Neal turned away, pretending to look into a file. "It's nothing, Peter, really."

His handler grabbed his arm and turned him around to take a look at his face. Neal winced and suppressed a cry of pain. His arm hurt.

The agent was fuming but tried to remain calm. "I repeat my question and I expect you to answer it: What happened to your face?" he demanded. "And what about your arm? This is not nothing. Don't try to wave me off with a lame excuse."

Neal smiled sheepishly. "I tried to help June, my landlady, carry some boxes upstairs. But I stumbled and fell down the stairs. Thank God it was only old tableware in the box, nothing valuable. June wasn't really upset."

Peter didn't believe a single word. "That's your story? Are you kidding me?"

"Peter, I am sorry. Maybe I had a glass of wine too much, or maybe it was a bottle too much. It won't happen again."

Agent Burke shook his head. "That's right, it won't happen again. I'm not taking any lies from you. Our deal is over and done. I'll save the Marshalls the hassle and drive you back to prison myself. Turn around."

Neal Caffrey was shocked. This couldn't happen to him! He tried to talk his way out of it. "No. Peter, please let me explain," he said.

But his handler wasn't willing to listen to another pack of lies. "Turn around, hands to your back. I am going to cuff you. You know the drill; it's not the first time for you."

When Diana entered the room, she saw the con man white as a sheet with his hands cuffed behind his back and her boss verifying that the locks were secured. "Boss, what's going on?" she asked.

"Caffrey has just bought his return ticket to prison," Peter said. "He flat-out lied to me. You'll go with us; I need you to watch him on the drive."

Diana was confused. "Caffrey, what did you do this time?"

But the restrained man shook his head and remained silent. He didn't trust his voice.

Peter Burke led his ex-consultant to the elevator. He tried to do this without attracting the attention of the other FBI agents: he didn't intend to humiliate the criminal; all he wanted was to bring this to a clean end. Even though he hadn't supported the operation in the beginning, he was disappointed by Neal's betrayal. He had started to see potential in the con man.

Neal was seated in the back of the car with Diana next to him to make sure he didn't escape. She knew that he wouldn't need the keys to strip off the cuffs. He'd shown her the trick yesterday afternoon in the office, and she had been amused. But today, she watched him carefully. She figured that he might try a quick escape since he must have been desperate.

They were driving silently. No-one said a single word. Neal was staring out of the window; his face was frozen.

After about ten minutes, Neal spoke softly, as if he was talking to himself. "I didn't lie to you. Maybe I was pushed down the stairs, but I still fell."

Peter Burke was baffled. He looked into the rearview mirror to check the face of the criminal in the back seat. But Neal had shut up again and was staring at the scenery.

The FBI agent thought hard and tried to decide if he should get engaged in a conversation or if Caffrey was just trying to con him. After all, words were his most efficient weapons.

Finally they reached the parking lot in front of the penitentiary. Burke got out of the car and opened the door for Caffrey. When they both were standing face to face he asked, "Why would someone push you down the stairs?"

The criminal looked defiantly into his face. "Because I refused to commit a crime."

"And why would Neal Caffrey refuse to commit a crime? It's not your first instinct. Wasn't the expected profit large enough for you?" Peter Burke tried to understand what had happened.

Neal laughed mirthlessly. "I refused to commit a crime because I was sure that you would catch me if I got involved in any criminal activity. And that you would send me back to prison for said involvement. I've made wiser decisions in my life." He sighed and tried to accept his fate: four more years behind bars. He could make it. He would survive. Take it one day at a time. Don't think too far ahead. Don't think of what could have been.

Soon he would cross the prison gates. Probably no-one in there would be surprised to see him back; he was sure that none of the wardens had expected him to succeed as a CI for the FBI. They had probably taken bets on how long it would be before he failed.

It had started to rain. That was fine by him. It was probably the last rain he would feel for the next four years. There was neither rain nor sunshine, neither heat nor cold, and no breeze in his cell. No spring, no summer, no fall, no winter. He would have one hour a day in the prison courtyard - at the very best. And not even that on the days when he was in solitary confinement, infirmary or just restricted to his cell.

Peter had a lot of experience with questioning suspects and he was good at it. In general, he could tell if someone was telling him a lie. And he couldn't deny the feeling that Caffrey didn't lie to him. His interest awakened. "Who tried to talk you into a crime?"

Neal was more than willing to delay the moment of being imprisoned. If Peter had asked him to explain the glucose-phosphate isomerase or the Keynesian economics he would have done it without hesitation.

"Ryan Wilkes," he said. "We tried to work together - allegedly - in the past. But our styles don't mesh. He is very fond of guns and hurting people and I am not. He came to think that I would be forging a Monet for him and wasn't pleased with my refusal last night."

"And why would I believe this story? I've heard better stories before." Peter was at odds with himself on whether to believe the criminal or not.

The con man gave him a wary look. "I've never lied to you. I may have held back some pieces of information or given you a slightly defused statement of facts, but I haven't told you a downright lie - ever. And if you ask me why, I can't tell. I don't know. But somehow I couldn't make myself lie to you."

Peter could tell that Neal was frustrated with himself. He felt strange. If the con man had told him an elaborate story, explaining in full detail why he had refused to work with his former partner and why he wasn't to be blamed for anything, he wouldn't be impressed. But telling the truth seemed to be something Caffrey wasn't used to, and it sounded awkward when he spilled it out unceremoniously. Obviously, he couldn't understand himself why he didn't tell a lie.

Peter Burke was a rational being. And sometimes the most rational thing you could do was trust your instincts and abandon caution.

"Any broken bones?"

The con man was surprised that the FBI agent cared. "Nope, nothing that won't heal by itself given the necessary time. And there will be enough time to heal." He nodded in the direction of the prison building.

They stood another minute in silence. Diana didn't intervene because she understood that her boss was making up his mind and would do this on his own.

The older man was the first to break the silence.

"Listen," he said. "I don't know if this is the most stupid decision I will ever make in my whole life. And I have no idea why I'm willing to give you another chance. But I am going to take a leap of faith. Don't make me regret it! If you're playing me, you will be back in there wearing an orange jumpsuit for a very long time."

Neal wondered if the agent was serious. Peter wouldn't raise his hopes just to crush them and enjoy the power to make him suffer, would he? He might be strict and obsessed with rules and order and law and all that stuff, but the con man was sure his handler was a decent person.

Peter Burke wondered if his consultant had understood him. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. "It's raining and I don't want to get soaked. We have a case to solve. Get back into the car."

Finally, Neal was starting to grin. Yes, he got another chance. This time he wouldn't blow it. Or, at least, he would try very hard not to blow it...

"Do you mind if I get rid of the handcuffs, or do you want to unlock them yourself?"

Peter Burke rolled his eyes and uncuffed his consultant. This co-operation would be interesting. An old Chinese proverb crossed his mind. "May you live in intersting times." Or was it a curse?

... to be continued

AN:

Thanks again to VoicesInTheWind, my terrific beta. If there are still any mistakes included they are all mine.

And to answer some of your questions: I plan for 3 more chapters. Somehow my chapters seem to need more text than I had anticipated. And therefore, maybe I have to split some of the chapters. But it won't be a never ending story.


	6. Chapter 6

... Tuesday on the way to the FBI ...

Neal was torn between delight about still having his freedom - that is, if you might call it freedom to work for the Feds, bound to a two-mile radius and a tracking anklet - and the pure shock that had gripped him to the marrow at having faced imprisonment. Nevertheless, when they stepped out of the elevator and entered the office, he looked unperturbed and confident. He made a sassy comment about how much he would have missed the FBI coffee and went to his desk.

The FBI agents were surprised to see Caffrey returning to the Bureau, but no one dared to ask about the story behind this. Agent Burke went to see Hughes to give him a report. The head of the department was concerned when he learned that their consultant had had an encounter with a former partner in crime.

"Do you think we can still take the risk of keeping Caffrey as CI?" Hughes asked. "He has access to confidential information when he's on our premises. It would reflect badly on us if he gets involved in a crime while working for us."

Peter had had the same apprehensions and had already thought it through. "I think we have to make sure he stays on the straight and narrow," he said. "I wouldn't rely on the assumption that Caffrey will play by our rules. We will have to watch him closely and give him the necessary motivation to make sure that he stays an asset for us."

Reece chuckled. "Trust, but verify... Taking Reagan's motto under advisement?"

Burke seemed to be disconcerted. "Trusting a criminal? No way. But verify I will."

In the afternoon, they got information that Curtis Hagen had taken on a restoration job in a church on Third Street. There was no proof yet that he was actually the forger they were looking for; therefore, the FBI couldn't just show up and arrest him. But they were able to observe him to find evidence for his criminal activities. This might take a long time, though, and many stakeouts, and it didn't assure success. Neal came up with another idea.

"If we could check his restoration work and find the same initials there which are on the Goya, we could at least be sure that we are on the right track," he suggested. "And if we do it undercover, he wouldn't know that the FBI is after him."

Peter took a liking to this suggestion. Both men went to the church after work. They hoped that the church would be still open and Hagen might have left because lighting conditions were too poor for art work in the dusk.

Once they arrived, the priest refused them admittance because the building was closed during the reconstruction work. Since they couldn't present a search warrant, Peter started to retreat.

But the con man didn't need a search warrant to gain access to any building he'd set his mind on. He led the priest away and started to talk to him in private. Peter couldn't listen to their discussion. From what he could see, the priest wasn't convinced easily but after a while he consented.

Neal gave his profuse thanks. "Thank you, thank you, Father. Sorry about that, we've got five."

Peter was baffled. "Did you just lie to a priest?"

Neal gave him an innocent look. "Do you think Diana's attractive?"

Since Diana Barrigan was a very attractive woman - even though he didn't feel attracted to her in any romantic way - the agent had to affirm. "Sure."

His consultant walked up to the painting and assured him, "Then we're good."

It was hard to acknowledge, but Peter Burke was slightly amused. When Hughes had hired the consultant for his out-of-the-box thinking, Peter wouldn't have imagined this coup de main. But one had to admit that Caffrey got what he wanted and that was more than the agent would have accomplished if he had been on his own.

The restoration work was extraordinary. Neal started to inspect the painting and quickly found what he was looking for. There it was: the initials C and H in the pattern on the hem of a dress. But they didn't look identical to the initials they had found on the bonds. Peter wasn't convinced.

Unfortunately, their investigation wasn't conducted unobserved.

"Can I help you, gentleman? Your face - it's very familiar. Maybe I've seen it on the news, or perhaps on a most wanted web page," Curtis Hagen said, catching them unprepared.

Neal extended a hand to welcome and introduce himself. But he was spurned.

"Forgive me if I don't shake hands with an art thief."

Hagen's statement invited contradiction. The convicted criminal had to clarify his position. "I was never arrested for art theft," Neal said.

They left the church a short while later and went home.

... Same evening at June's residence...

When Neal returned home, he found Mozzie sitting in the hall and chatting with June. It was rare that Mozzie hit it off with someone; in general, he was too suspicious to get involved with anyone. But it seemed June had won him over completely and they were both enjoying each other's company.

Neal took a chair and joined them. But he felt drained after the eventful day and was not in the mood for pleasant conversation.

His landlady hasn't seen him since the day before yesterday. She was shocked when she saw the bruises on his face which had a nasty yellow color by now.

"Neal, what happened to you? I hope this wasn't some of your new FBI acquaintances." Her Byron had never attracted the attention of the FBI, but she knew that back in the old times police officers could be pretty rough when they wanted someone to confess.

The young man tried to reassure her. "It's not that bad. And it wasn't the FBI who did this. It was an old partner taking care of some unfinished business. It's okay, don't worry. I am glad that I'm still able to sit here together with you - taking the course of the day into consideration."

Then he told both his friends about the trip to the state penitentiary that day and his handler's sudden change of mind. Mozzie was puzzled.

"Are you telling me that you actually trust the suit?" he asked.

Neal denied this categorically. "Trust and Feds are mutually exclusive," he insisted. "I can't trust anyone in the FBI. But maybe they are, I don't know, fair? At least that's something I can work with."

Mozzie looked doubtful. According to his experience, a fair-minded FBI agent had yet to be born...

June was worried, too. Even though her tenant had tried to reassure her, she knew from her life with Byron that old partners could be dangerous, and she didn't understand the FBI's intentions either. She sighed when she thought back. Every time Byron had left the house for a job or a meeting she felt bad and worried whether he would return at all, and what state he would be in if he did. Even though she knew Neal only for a short while, she already cared about him. And caring for a criminal wasn't good for your own peace of mind...

... Wednesday ...

The next morning brought bad news. Neal was sitting at his desk and watching Diana talk to Peter in his office. Diana seemed concerned and Agent Burke looked outright furious.

When she finally came downstairs, Diana revealed to Neal what she had just told her boss. "Hagen is leaving the country," she said. "He booked a flight through a private charter company in Barcelona for the 19th."

Now the consultant understood why his handler appeared so angry. There was only one week left. Seeing him must've tipped Hagen off. Damn it. Neal tried to assess the situation and find a way to cope. Obviously, Peter Burke was mad at him. If they hadn't gone to the church and met Hagen, he wouldn't have found out that someone was on his trail. Trying to pretend as though it wasn't his fault wouldn't work well with Peter. The con man decided that it would be a better strategy to let the agent lay all the blame on his CI. Performing an act of contrition and promising to do better next time might appease the FBI man. He hoped that his handler wouldn't see him as a useless liability after this disaster.

He went to face the man who had the power to decide his fate.

"Peter, Diana told me about Hagen," he said. "I am so sorry. It was such a stupid idea to visit the church. I should have known better. I promise next time I will leave the decisions up to you."

Peter Burke stared at him. Apparently, he wasn't appeased at all. In fact, it seemed he was even more upset.

"Caffrey, on this team I'm still the one who makes the decisions. Sorry to break the news to you. It was my decision to go there. I liked your idea and knew the risks and I have to take the responsibility for anything that goes wrong. You came up with the idea, but I decided to actually go there."

Neal was perplexed. "Oh. But you are mad at me."

His handler began to understand. "Being mad at you is my normal state of mind," he said. "I am no more mad at you now than at any other given time. I am angry that we gave Hagen an edge. I hate the thought of losing the suspect. Once he's off to Spain, I won't catch the Dutchman for a very long time. I am not looking for a scapegoat, but for a solution to the case." He looked his consultant right in the eyes and sighed. "We have one week to connect him to the forged bond. If we lose him on the 19th ... Neal, if we lose him, you're back in. I can't save you."

The CI was stunned. He'd never met someone like Burke before. He'd conned a lot of people in his life into liking him, but he could tell that the agent wasn't overly fond of him, and he hadn't been an advocate for the deal the FBI had cut either. And still he acted in Neal's best interest and didn't jump on the first chance to get rid of him.

... The same evening ...

It was already dark outside. Neal had spent the evening with Mozzie, trying to get some intel from old street contacts. If someone was trying to forge hundreds of Spanish bonds, he must have set up a printing press somewhere and got ahold of ink and fusing materials. They must have left a mark.

But he made sure to be home well before 10 p.m. The con man was surprised when June knocked on his door.

"Neal, there was a delivery for you just a moment ago. Here you are!"

She handed him a big manila envelope. His address was written on the outside, but there was no information regarding the sender. He gave her a smile. "Thanks, June."

Neal waited until he was alone to open the envelope. He pulled out a piece of paper and read the message on it: "I've thought about our conversation. I guess you need additional incentive to make up your mind. I really miss my painting, and I guess you will soon understand how much it hurts to lose something precious. W."

There was a photo included in the envelope as well. Neal's stomach turned when he took a look at the picture. It was June, sitting on a bench at the Riverside Park and watching her granddaughter playing soccer. In the middle of her chest was a red dot from a sniper rifle.

... to be continued

AN:

Thanks for all your inspiring reviews. Without giving away too much away I can promise you that Peter won't stay so mean and distant. But he'll need his time.

As for this chapter: Thanks to VoicesInTheWind for reviewing this chapter. I can't tell how glad I am for her help.


	7. Chapter 7

... Tuesday evening ...

Neal was aghast at the sight. He understood the implied warning immediately - turn over the painting or your landlady will be killed. Wilkes was not the type for idle threads. Wilkes ordering the shooting of an uncooperative potential buyer had been the reason why Neal had quit their cooperation.

The con man felt at home in his apartment, and this was not due to the luxury environment or the breathtaking view over Manhattan. Home is where the heart is... His landlady had welcomed him into her home without any reservations. Frankly, when he had been rummaging through the thrift store he'd been on the edge of despair - the cockroach hotel, no one to talk to, his rigid handler with the myriad of rules, and the anklet. June didn't ask awkward questions, saw right through his con man armor and still liked him. She gave him a home, pleasant conversation, and affection. It didn't matter whether they'd known each other for a week or a decade. He wouldn't let her down. He would go to any length for her.

Neal's mind raced. He was considering ways and means to handle the situation. In the end, he came to the conclusion that he had to give Wilkes the painting. And as it was impossible to steal the original masterpiece from the museum in Washington with the FBI on his heels, he had to forge it.

He didn't really like the idea, but couldn't think of another alternative to secure his freedom and June's life. There were still risks he had to acknowledge to make sure the Feds wouldn't catch on to his actions. And yet, the prospect of creating a painting was a bit alluring...

... Wednesday ...

It was only a couple of hours before sunrise when he finally fell asleep. Hence he overslept the next morning and didn't make it to the FBI office in time. His late entry caused Agent Burke to frown.

"I expected you twenty minutes ago!" Burke reprimanded him.

The consultant apologized. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Neal wanted to use his lunch break to see Mozzie and had sent a message earlier on to arrange the meeting. Not that he was as paranoid as his old friend, but some things shouldn't be discussed over the phone. He knew meeting his criminal friend during the daytime was risky but he couldn't afford to lose time. Therefore, he approached his handler.

"Hey, June's doing a champagne brunch, I totally forgot. Do you mind if I extend my lunch break?" he asked.

The FBI agent gave his permission. "What kind of monster would I be to keep Neal Caffrey from a champagne brunch?" But he was suspicious about this impromptu social event and decided to check the tracking data.

The ex-criminal met his friend in a nearby park.

"Moz, do you still have my sketch blocks?" Neal asked. His former partner had stored away all his paintings and belongings when he had been arrested four years ago.

Mozzie seemed to be annoyed. "Of course. I told you I've taken care of everything. I haven't lost them or sold them."

Neal was relieved. "That's good. I need the block with the Monet sketches I drew in Washington. And I need canvas and French paints from the late 19th century. Do you know where to find them?"

Mozzie felt offended. "I can get paint from the Provence from the 1870th or canvas from Paris from the same supplier Degas used. You only have to be a little bit more specific about your needs. ...Wait. What are you up to? Don't tell me you've changed your mind and plan to work for Wilkes! That's insane."

The con man sighed and briefed his friend on the latest news and his plan to forge the painting in exchange for June's life. Mozzie wasn't convinced, but on the other hand he was thrilled to get involved in a crime with Neal once again. Just like old times. He pushed his doubts aside and started to warm to the idea.

"You'll need authentic brushes, too," he said. "I know just the right source for your art supplies. Let's see ... I am going on a little shopping trip. I'll transfer your sketch blocks to your apartment and let the art supplies acclimate to your room temperature and humidity. You should be able to start painting this evening."

The rest of the day at the FBI seemed dull to Neal and the team didn't gather any new information at all about the Dutchman.

When he arrived home, Mozzie was already waiting for him. The art forger started to skim through his sketches. He felt a touch of melancholy remembering the times he drew them. Head over heels in love with Kate, feeling invincible and as though the whole world was his oyster. There hadn't been anything he couldn't steal or forge and no one he couldn't con or trick. No tracking anklet, no lost love and no sharp FBI agent on his tail...

He found the sketches of 'Woman with a Parasol' and they were as good and precise as he had hoped. They would be a sufficient basis for an excellent forgery.

On the other end of the city, Peter Burke was having dinner with his wife. And it hadn't taken her long to find out that something was bothering her husband.

"Let me guess," she said. "It's about Neal Caffrey!"

He was once again surprised by how well she could read him. "You've got me there," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't let him spoil our evening."

But El knew he wouldn't get rid of the unsettling thoughts easily. "Tell me about it. What did he do this time? He didn't run off or otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here with me."

Peter shook his head. "No, no. But he told me today that his landlady had invited him for a brunch. And unless she held the champagne brunch in Bryant Park, he lied to me."

El tried to dispel his thoughts. "Maybe she did," she argued. "It could have been a picnic. You would be surprised how many stylish picnics I've organized with Burke Events over the years."

He lifted his eyebrows in disbelief. "At this time of the year?"

"No, you are right. That was in spring or summer. Now it's freezing cold outside. But why should he lie to you? He hasn't left his radius, has he?"

That was exactly the question the FBI agent couldn't answer himself. After dinner, Peter took a long walk with Satchmo. But even after his return he was still feeling uneasy about Caffrey's behavior. He checked the actual tracking data. It was 9:30 and his consultant was at home. It wasn't too late to pay him a visit, not in New York anyway. Of course, he didn't plan to interrogate him or put him on a polygraph - just a comfortable social call.

Neal had finished the first layer of priming on the canvas and ended the work for the day. It didn't do to rush things when you created a high class forgery. He wanted to clean his hands with solvent when he heard a knock on his door. He was surprised to find his handler at his door step with a six-pack of beer.

"I just thought I'd check to see if you've settled in or if you might need anything. It's always a challenge to get adjusted to a new home, isn't it?" Peter Burke wasn't good at play-acting. He knew it was a flimsy excuse. But what could Caffrey do, refuse him admittance? Bad choice; he was too smart to do that.

In fact, Neal was wondering whether that was his handler's idea of being subtle. But he decided to play along. "What a nice surprise. And you brought something to drink. Come in."

Peter entered the apartment and saw the art supplies and the canvas on the easel. "Ah, you started a painting..." The statement sounded like a question.

The artist reacted nonchalantly. "Yep, you know I love painting. It helps me to relax and ease my mind. You know, they say '_life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one_'."

His handler nodded. "Nothing wrong with that. That is, unless your paintings bear a substantial resemblance to a valuable masterpiece one would expect to be hanging in a museum."

Neal was glad that he had put his sketches away already. He laughed. "I am just going to create a genuine Neal Caffrey. You could hang it in your office once I've finished it." It wasn't an outright lie. He was going to paint his own masterpiece soon. Even if the painting he had just started would be more the sort of an almost genuine Claude Monet. Somehow, the obfuscation didn't feel right. That was a first time experience for him.

Both men spent an hour chatting about art, great crimes in history and the changes in Manhattan and Brooklyn over the last few years. When Peter was finishing his beer, he started to take his leave.

Neal was astonished that he had actually enjoyed the visit - even though he knew the agent was sort of spying on him.

"Feel free to drop in whenever you're in the neighborhood. You'll understand that I say my goodbye here and won't give you a farewell outside. You know my curfew: after 10 p.m. I'm not to leave the house, and so on..." He had a big smart-ass grin on his face.

Peter Burke couldn't resist laughing at the remark. "That's okay. I'll see you tomorrow at the office."

On his way back to Brooklyn, Peter mused about the evening. It was entertaining to talk with Caffrey, who seemed to have profound knowledge of almost every domain. It was only once that a personal remark had slipped him when they were talking about the new tramway to Roosevelt Island. Neal said someone dear was living over there. Peter Burke knew Caffrey's file inside and out. There was no connection to someone living on Roosevelt Island.

He might ask Diana tomorrow to look into it. Or maybe it could wait until they had finished the Dutchman case. They should concentrate on one crime at a time. Still, the agent hadn't completely resolved his doubts regarding the suspicious actions of his consultant.

... Saturday ...

The following two days went by and the FBI team had yet to make a breakthrough. Neal was even more frustrated than the agents. Clearing up the Dutchman case would raise the closure rate for the rest of team, but for him it was mandatory to prolong his deal with the FBI.

Mozzie got information about someone who purchased an old printing press from World War II somewhere in New Jersey, but he had no details yet. Maybe it was a dead end. They were still looking for additional information.

Neal had made good progress so far with the art work. It was like a rush; he simply loved painting. And even if it was only a forgery, and he copied the creative output of someone else, it felt so good. He was an expert in French Impressionism and admired Monet. When he was painting, he became completely absorbed in the creative process.

Neal finished the canvas on Saturday evening while Mozzie watched.

"This pigment needs to be aged. I'll go preheat the oven."

His younger friend reminded him of the temperature. "It's 125."

Mozzie was seriously affronted. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know how to age a painting." But he returned a moment later with a hint of panic on his face. "Houston, we have a problem."

Neal raised his eyes with a questioning look. "What problem, buddy?"

"Take a look at your oven. That painting is huge, at least 39 x 31 inches. And your oven isn't big enough to heat a pizza."

The fastidious artist protested. "I don't like pizza."

"That's not the point! We need to look for a bigger oven. Or you'll use the canvas to make some Origami artwork to slot into the oven... Hey, I've got an idea. Your suit's spouse has a catering business. She will have a professional oven which should be big enough. You could ask the suit."

"Seriously, Moz? You want me to ask my FBI handler if his wife could age a forged painting for me in her oven? Do you think he will tell her to do this before or after he has sent me back to prison?" Neal wasn't amused.

Mozzie cringed. "Point taken. We have to come up with something else."

They were lost in thought when June dropped in. She was bringing a tray full of pastries. "Please do me a favor and sample some of those," she said. "I made a whole bunch of them. I love baking every now and then, but I haven't got used to making smaller portions since Byron and the children are not around anymore."

Neal tasted one of the almond pastries. It was excellent. He came up with an idea. "June, with your big family and all the guests you were entertaining, I guess you've had a very big oven to prepare all the meals?"

She was confused. "Of course, my dear. We had dinner parties almost every weekend and we had gourmet dishes which were really famous at the time. Sometimes, we hired a cook from a high-class downtown restaurant. You should have seen his arrogant airs. He would have refused to work in anything less than a professional environment."

Neal smiled at her. "Can I take a look at it? I guess you wouldn't mind preparing something French in your oven for me?"

They aged the painting slowly and it was well after midnight when Neal took the painting upstairs and put it back on the easel. He was proud of his work. Mozzie had already left and therefore he was sitting alone in front of his painting.

He was suddenly overcome by the realization that this wouldn't work out.

Wilkes was not one who stuck by his word. Neal had left him high and dry once, and he knew Wilkes had already killed for less. Either he would shoot him or, more likely, he would shoot June. Or threaten to kill her and keep demanding favors. There would be no happily ever after.

Deep down inside, he had known this right from the beginning. But it felt so good to create the painting, feeling the rush of adrenalin that was always involved with committing a crime.

But now, the con man couldn't deny the truth. It was June's life on the line. The stakes were too high to take a chance. It was one of the hardest decisions he had to make in his entire life.

AN:  
Thanks again to my very helpful beta, VoicesInTheWind, for everything.  
Next chapter will be uploaded soon.


	8. Chapter 8

... Sunday morning ...

Neal slept a few hours and woke up early. He waited until 8 a.m. before he called his handler.

"Peter, I need to talk to you."

The FBI agent was still sleepy. "Neal, what's wrong? It's Sunday, your day off. And mine, too."

His CI knew it wasn't going to be easy. "Yep. I have some good news for you. But I can't say it on the phone. Can I come over?"

Soon the two of them were sitting face to face at the dining table, both of them tense. El was busy making coffee. Peter started the conversation.

"This better be good."

"I forged a painting."

Peter was about to explode, but Elizabeth calmed him down. Neal gave him a detailed report on what had happened so far. His handler listened with disbelief.

"You told me you had good news for me," Peter said. "I'm supposed to think of this as good news?"

His consultant shook his head sadly. "Nope," he said. "Here comes the good news: You will be able to arrest a wanted criminal _and_ get rid of me and the deal you never wanted in the first place."

Agent Burke was curious. "How is this going to happen? Enlighten me."

Neal had made up a plan. He would meet Wilkes that evening under the supervision of an FBI team. Once he had handed over the painting, the FBI would arrest Wilkes. Fencing a forged painting would be just one more crime on Wilkes' already long list of offenses. Once arrested, he would go to prison for a very, very long time. June would be safe for the rest of her life.

And Neal himself would go back to prison, too. He just hoped his confession and helping the FBI to catch the violent criminal would make sure he won't be charged for the forgery. After all, he had only created a painting so far. That was no crime itself. And he wouldn't fence it, but use it as bait in an FBI chase. Unfortunately, he was pretty sure that Burke would take his deceit personally. And maybe he would find a way to send him back for good. It was a risk Neal had to take.

Wilkes was in the top one hundred of the FBI's most wanted list. Peter Burke was intrigued by the idea of catching him. He wanted to make sure that Neal understood the consequences.

"You know what that means?" Peter asked.

The con man was uncharacteristically brief with his answer. "I do."

"You're willing to give up everything? You're sure?" His handler still couldn't believe it and was looking for an angle Neal was playing. But the consultant nodded in confirmation.

They worked on the plan and finally Peter called Hughes and arranged everything for that evening.

After Neal left, the FBI agent remained sitting in his kitchen. El had taken the chair opposite of him.

"Hon, tell me what's running through your mind?" she asked.

Her husband tried to explain his confusion. "That's above my head. Why would he do that? He sacrifices his freedom for what? An old lady he's known for less than two weeks. He could have started a profitable business with Wilkes instead. Or, if he was afraid to partner with him, Hon, let's face it: he could have cut his anklet and run off. He's Neal Caffrey. He would have changed his identity and left New York before the Marshals could get to his last known GPS position. But he's offering himself up on a silver platter to the FBI."

El had her own ideas about the consultant. "I think all this con man demeanor is only an attitude. For the people he cares about, he's willing to go to all lengths. He loves luxury and has his very own rules - which are not always compatible with your FBI rules. But he sticks to these as firmly as you stick to yours. And perhaps he's tired of running."

"El, he betrayed me, he went behind my back. I can't let him get away with that."

She didn't agree. "I'd rather say he had his back against the wall and had to choose between the devil and the deep blue sea. And in the end, he came to confide in you! Probably, you are the only person in the federal system he trusts. And he likes you." Before she left him alone in the kitchen to give him time to come up with the right thing to do, she quoted William James. "The art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook."

... Sunday evening ...

Wilkes had called and given the details for the meeting. The FBI team went up and snipers were positioned on buildings around the deserted container yard at the Hudson. Caffrey was wired and the FBI would be able to record his conversation with Wilkes.

Wilkes arrived a short while after Neal.

"I am pleased that you've changed your mind," he said. "Show me my painting!"

Neal handed over the painting. His former partner checked and seemed satisfied.

"I guess that makes you obsolete." He pointed his gun towards the CI.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The forger gestured at the red dots on Wilkes' chest. "See, I got friends with sniper rifles, too."

They heard Jones calling, "FBI! Drop your weapon. Drop your weapon right now!"

Wilkes surrendered, was cuffed and led away. Jones informed his boss, who was sitting in the surveillance van, over the transceiver. "Agent Burke, we got Wilkes."

Neal was surprised that he wasn't arrested immediately. Maybe the FBI wanted him to write a report first. He had said good bye to June already. She was heavy-hearted upon learning he had to go back to jail. His landlady gave him a promise that his apartment would wait for him and once he was released he could move back in. The offer had given him a bit of hope, something to look forward to while being locked up in prison. He hadn't been able to contact Mozzie, but that didn't worry him. His friend would find a way to get in touch with him in prison.

When Agent Burke joined them, he led Caffrey aside, who tried to appear unshaken.

"Hey, Peter, you've missed all the action! Will you see me off yourself or have you called the Marshals to carry me to the state penitentiary?"

Peter Burke surprised his consultant - and he surprised himself, too...

"I'm willing to look past your little artistry because you did well today and decided to come to me before you committed the actual crime."

The con man was lost for words. This seemed to happen quite often to him lately. He swallowed hard and started to stammer. "Thank you."

His handler stopped him. "Don't. You know, you can either go back to wearing an orange jump suit and pining for the girl who got away - or you can stay here and do something good with your life. If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading. Your choice. ...Still, I can't promise you anything permanent unless we catch the Dutchman first."


	9. Chapter 9

And here comes the finale!

... Monday morning ...

It was early - very early. Neal was awakened by Mozzie, who was searching through the kitchen cabinets. He was making a lot of noise, banging the doors and drawers.

"Why don't you have any soy milk? I've made coffee and brought bagels."

"Because I'm not the one with lactose intolerance. But what are you doing here at ..." Neal checked his alarm clock "... at 5 a.m.? And it's a bit unusual to break into someone's apartment before sunrise to make breakfast."

His friend wasn't impressed. "It seems you're getting narrow-minded. You're hanging out with the suits too much..."

The FBI consultant had gotten out of bed and put on a dressing gown. "Mozzie, what's up?" he asked. "I tried to reach you all day yesterday."

The little man looked up. "I guess your deal with Wilson went alright? Sorry, I couldn't be around."

Neal saw clearly that his friend was dying to tell him something important and wouldn't have the patience to listen to an elaborate story. "Yeah, everything has been fine. I'd say Wilson won't cause any more trouble. Now spill it!"

Mozzie was bursting with pride. "I found the warehouse where Curtis Hagen set up the printing press and has already started to reproduce the Spanish bonds. You can reveal the location to the suits, help them to catch the Dutchman and prove yourself invaluable."

Neal was overjoyed to hear this. "And then they will gladly prolong my deal so that I can stay out of prison and you have every day unlimited access to my wine stocks. Thanks, Moz. It's really good news."

The consultant was already waiting for his handler at the office and presented the news as soon as he arrived.

Since he couldn't give the source of the information away, Peter Burke had some doubts regarding its validity. But he agreed to take a look at the warehouse and both of them were soon driving over.

They heard noises that sounded very much like a printing press at work, but Peter refused to break into the building. The CI shook his head in disbelief.

"We know the bonds are there," he argued. "Just open the door."

Obviously it wasn't conclusive proof to hear something from the outside where they were lingering without any credible reason. Neal regretted that it was so complicated to handle problems FBI style. Acting as a criminal was much more effective.

All the way back to the Bureau the consultant gabbled on and on about how they were chucking away this chance. He was surprised that they wouldn't even get a search warrant for the warehouse unless they had more tangible leads to show to the judge.

Finally, back at the Bureau, Peter Burke had had enough. He grabbed a big book and threw it to his CI. "Yeah, well, you should read this - warrant law," he said. "All I've got is sounds coming out of a warehouse and no way to link this to the bond forgery. I've got to talk to your source."

Neal was positive that Mozzie wouldn't agree to talk to the Feds under any circumstances, but that didn't prevent him from affirming the exact opposite. "Okay, okay. I'll bring you to him ... first thing tomorrow."

In the evening, Neal couldn't find any rest. The 19th was close and they were running out of time. The moment Hagen finished forging the Spanish bonds he'd up and leave for good. The Dutchman would once again disappear without a trace, just like his namesake.

Instead of sleeping, Neal was lying on his couch and reading warrant law. It was dull and boring but he worked through it. He'd never gone to college and even if he had he wouldn't have studied law as his major. But he was sharp and had no problem at all understanding a legislative text, and whatever piece of information he read once he'd remember all his life. Furthermore, he wasn't only able to recite the details but also to link them and catch the point.

Finally he read something that made sense to him and he started to work on a plan...

... Early the next morning ...

Peter Burke's phone was vibrating. El woke when her husband was getting dressed in a hurry.

"What's going on?" she asked sleepily.

"He ran."

The FBI agent was racing to catch Caffrey – once again. How stupid could this man be? Why didn't he cut his anklet? The FBI and the Marshals would be on his tracks following the GPS data.

Peter checked the geo data on his phone once more. Right now, he was at ... wait ... that daredevil. Realization hit Peter Burke hard. What a bold and reckless venture. Dangerous, yes – but it could actually work!

Seen from Neal's perspective, everything had gone according to plan so far. He'd been dragged into the warehouse and there it was – the printing press, the Spanish bonds, and all the evidence the FBI needed to arrest the Dutchman. Nevertheless, when he saw how furious Hagen looked and all the guns around him he hoped that Peter would be right on time and that the door to the small office was really inch-thick Lexan.

The consultant rapped on the desk inside the locked office. "Nice," he commented. "You shouldn't have signed the bonds, though. I'm no stranger to vanity myself, so I understand the impulse."

Hagen was infuriated. "I'm gonna kill you. I hope whatever they're giving you, it's worth it."

"It is." When he heard the sounds of sirens and braking cars Neal tugged back his pant leg to reveal the tracker, flashing red. Yeah, he could trust his handler would be coming after him in a hurry when he was on the run.

"You are a particular kind of bastard!" Hagen was looking for an escape route.

Outside of the building, about a dozen of FBI agents had arrived. Peter Burke left his car and smiled.

"Gentlemen, we have a fugitive hiding in this building. Knock down those doors!"

The Feds followed the order and forced an entry. "Freeze! Get in there! Federal Agents! Get 'em up in the air!" All workers and security guards in the warehouse stopped and lifted their hands into the air.

Peter followed and headed to Hagen and his lawyer.

"This is what the law calls an exigent circumstance," he said smugly. "Any of you Harvard grads know what that is?"

The question was greeted with silence. One of the probies muttered under his breath, "Don't even know how to spell it," but he was smart enough to keep his voice low so that Agent Burke wouldn't overhear him.

"Huh? No hands? Diana?"

She'd done her homework and answered immediately. "Exigent circumstance allows us to pursue a suspect onto private property without obtaining a warrant."

Peter picked up one of the forged bonds and smiled at Hagan. "And to seize any and all evidence that has been discovered in plain view, regardless of the connection to the original crime." Hey, he could get used to this. Even though he had to admit it was not the usual way the FBI arrested a suspect, it was sort of fun.

Neal opened the office door without hesitation as Peter approached. He greeted him with a big smile, smoking one of Hagen's Cuban cigars. "You should arrest me," he said. It felt weird to be pleased that the FBI had just caught a criminal with his help. Until recently, whenever he'd witnessed Peter Burke arresting a felon he was the named felon himself and that hasn't been pleasant at all.

His handler was elated that they had caught the Dutchman in the act. "I'll let the cigar go, but you are a fleeing suspect. You know this makes me three-and-oh?"

The caught suspect was unperturbed. "Maybe I'm not trying hard enough."

Peter Burke gave him a deprecating stare. "If you're going to stay on my team, there'll be no more playing a lone hand. This could have had a bad end. What if I haven't been here in time? Did you have an actual plan? This bulletproof glass was your lifesaver. Any ideas what you would've done if it hadn't been between you and the guns? I'd like to keep my team alive and in one piece. I lost a partner once and have no intention to do it again."

Neal was quite sure that he would have come up with something to save his skin if there hadn't been the bulletproof office. He'd survived many dangerous situations and that had given him an ability to react to almost anything. But he was caught off guard by the implication of Burke's speech: Burke was thinking of him as a partner. Why did it feel so good to hear this? After all, he was one of the world's greatest con men and only working for the FBI to stay out of prison. He didn't care a damn about any one of them.

... Wednesday ...

Catching the Dutchman was a big success for the Bureau and Hughes was more than willing to take a stand for Caffrey. Why their consultant had cut his anklet and run in order to catch a forger in the act needed some explaining; the administrative machinery wasn't very amenable to non-standard, out-of-the-box practices. But he hadn't been in the federal system for almost forty years without learning how to navigate his way through bureaucratic barriers.

Hughes thought that this deal with Neal Caffrey turned out just the way he had hoped. He had helped the FBI not only to arrest the Dutchman, but had also handed over Wilkes as a bonus. Peter Burke was an excellent agent and the best man in his department. His key strengths were analytical skill, keen perception and predictive acting. Pairing this with the creative and unconventional criminal mastermind would help the Bureau to raise the closure rate, help his agent to loosen up and maybe even keep the felon away from the dark side...

Both men were sitting in front of him and together they had set up the parameters for the extension of Caffrey's deal with the FBI. The head of the department was about to bring the meeting to a close.

"Now, you'll have to see the FBI recruiting office to make this official," he said. "I have made an appointment for you tomorrow morning. I think this Dutchman case has proved that both of you have built up sufficient trust in each other to make this co-operation work."

The agent and the con man spoke at the same time. "Trust him? He's a criminal!" "Trust him? He's chased me for four years!" They looked at each other, appalled.

Hughes was amused. Both of them were sharp and had a quick wit, but nevertheless, they failed to see the obvious. Men are able to trust one another when knowing the exact degree of dishonesty they are entitled to expect.

When they left Hughes, Peter asked his CI to join him in his office. Once Neal was seated, he waited for a wearisome lecture about rules and regulations, the dos and don'ts at the FBI, and so on and so forth. He could let his mind wander and still keep an interested face. He had perfected that look.

He was caught by surprise when his handler opened a drawer of his desk and took an evidence bag out. It contained an old but empty bottle which was once filled with Bordeaux.

"I kept this from when I caught you in the deserted apartment some months ago. I guess it has some special importance to you. I mean, more than the eight hundred bucks you must have paid for it - if you paid for it. If you didn't, don't tell me. Listen, if you want to keep the goodbye message that Kate left for you, it's yours." Peter handed him the bottle.

Neal fought hard to keep his jaw from dropping and to blink back tears. The bottle had meant so much to him and Kate. "Don't worry, I paid for it. But I got it empty it was far from eight hundred dollars."

His handler was confused. "Empty?" Why would anyone buy an empty bottle of old wine?

The CI was lost in thoughts. "Look, when Kate and I met, we had nothing. I got that bottle, and I used to fill it up with whatever cheap wine we could afford and we'd sit in that crappy apartment and drink it over cold pizza and pretend we were living in the Cote d'Azur."

The agent recognized the bitter grief hidden in the story. "How'd that work out for you?"

Neal looked young and quite vulnerable when he had to acknowledge his failure. "It didn't. Because that bottle was a promise for a better life. What Kate got was a guy locked away for half a decade." He was quiet for a moment, contemplating the bottle, before he said, "Thank you, Peter. It means a lot."

And then in a couple of moments he switched his con man face back on. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything. But I could forge – ahem, I mean _paint_ a French Impressionist for you that would look really great above your couch. El would love it."

His handler threw his hands up in mock horror. "Get out, Caffrey! Don't forget to show up in time at the recruiting officer tomorrow."

... Same evening ...

Peter Burke was seated on his couch with his lovely wife.

"I don't really know how this teamwork thing will work out," he said. "He's bright and smart, without any doubt. But he's driving me crazy and has absolutely no sense of consequences. Sometimes he acts like a child and the next moment like a criminal mastermind. I'm walking a fine line between giving him a pat on the back and shooting him."

"Hey, I don't believe it. You like him!" El teased him. "Peter Burke likes a criminal. And the world hasn't stopped turning."

Her husband frowned. "Ha, ha - very funny. I really hope the bottle I gave him today won't beguile him into doing some mischief. I feel a presentiment of danger."

She tried to reassure him. "Just do what you do best - watch him and try to keep him on the straight and narrow. You're as solid as a rock and if there's anyone at all who can give him stability, that would be you. Just give him a chance; maybe he's ready to take it."

On the other end of the city, Mozzie was trying to convince his friend to run.

"Do you remember the first day when I checked your anklet?" he asked.

Of course, Neal had a very vivid remembrance of that evening. "Yeah, I won't forget the Marshals appearing at my door and being read the riot act the following day by my handler..."

The little man looked at him proudly. "I found a way to pick the lock without raising alarm. I've seen the construction plan of the tracking device and spoken to one of the engineers who worked on the development team. There is a fail-safe way to unlock it without interrupting the GPS signal.

"In addition to that, I have a first class French passport for you and sufficient funds to live in style for the next couple of months. After that, I'm pretty sure we'll have come up with something to replenish those funds. We can cut your tracking anklet right now and you have twelve hours until tomorrow morning when your handler starts looking for you. No more dull FBI office for you, no rules, and no keeper."

Neal didn't react as his friend had expected. Instead, he looked sad.

"Moz, I can't run," he said. "If I run know, I can't come back to New York - ever. Peter will be on my tracks to catch me whatever the cost. And I don't want to run right now and lose everything. Look, I've got the bottle Kate left. We have to find out if there's any secret message hidden. I just don't believe she left me for no reason."

According to Mozzie's experience with women in general - and Kate in particular - leaving a man for no reason was a very likely event. But he kept his belief to himself and remained silent. If his friend wanted to stay with the Feds, he'd be around to keep an eye on him and protect him from them. His younger companion seemed to feel some strange and incomprehensible affection for the suit. Stockholm syndrome!

... Thursday morning ...

Peter Burke was waiting for his consultant in the lobby. They took the elevator to go upstairs to the FBI recruiting office. There would be some forms to sign for both of them, probably in triplicate, and lots of fine print. After all, it would be a permanent contract and nothing temporary like the current deal. He wasn't looking forward to this act of bureaucracy, but there was nothing to be afraid of.

He hadn't expected to be confronted with a committee of three FBI officials. They had large files in front of them.

"There have arisen some doubts regarding the employment of Neal Caffrey as a consultant for the FBI," one of them announced. "We have to discuss this."

Peter was getting annoyed. "Gentlemen, what can I do to resolve your doubts?" he asked impatiently.

Neal didn't say anything. He had a bad feeling. Maybe he shouldn't have turned down Mozzie's offer the night before. He could have been in the Caribbean instead of sweating in the office...

"First of all, Mr. Caffrey left his allowed radius and had to be caught by an FBI team. This is unacceptable."

The special agent was very cold. "I guess you may have read the statement of the head of the White Collar Department that this was an action approved by himself in advance. The division is very grateful to Mr. Caffrey for his willingness to take the risks implied. If you haven't read the statement yet, I would suggest you take your time to get prepared for this meeting first."

The committee had some more accusations. "Mr. Caffrey has met with a known criminal at his apartment and agreed to forge a painting for him."

Peter Burke cut them short. "That was part of an undercover investigation. Mr. Caffrey has exceeded the Bureau's expectations by not only catching the Dutchman as we have hired him to do, but also to get hold of one of the most wanted violent offenders. Anything else?"

They had one more breach of regulations to claim. "Mr. Caffrey was neglecting his duties. He came twenty minutes late to work once and extended his lunch break longer than allowed on another occasion. During the qualifying period of his consultation contract, one hundred percent compliance with all rules and regulations is required. His behavior proves his slack attitude towards his contractual obligations. Under these circumstances, we cannot approve any further working agreement with him for the FBI."

Neal paled. That was it. They'd hit home. Al Capone was locked up for fiscal offences. And he might be sent back to prison for coming late to work. Damn it. He should have seen this coming. Was Peter part of this scheme? Had he set him up? All this talk about being partners, working as a team, was just a con. And he? He let himself be led like a lamb to the slaughter. Now, it would be back to prison for him. He wouldn't show his desperation and give them the satisfaction of delighting in his sorrow.

His handler was really pissed off and his voice was icy. "I have no doubts that you are responsible servants of the FBI, working hard from nine to five. My team - of which Mr. Caffrey is an essential member - is working hard not only from nine to five but also before and after office hours, and weekends, too, if necessary.

If Mr. Caffrey came in late to the office that doesn't mean he wasn't carrying out an important task for the Bureau. And if required, we take lunch time to complete a job. Now, could we please sign the contracts and start to go back to work to catch criminals in order to do what we get paid for? If you have any more objections, I'll talk to your superior. I'm not willing to waste any more time here. I should call the Director."

He took his phone out and started searching for a number in his contact list. He was stopped.

"Wait. I guess you have resolved all objections," one of the officials said.

The first recruitment officer took a pen and signed the contract - in triplicate. The second and third officers followed. Caffrey and Burke put their signature on the paper as well. Finally, they shook hands and left.

Neal looked like a cat that got the cream. "Did you just lie to an FBI official?"

His partner looked innocent. "Have you been working hard on the case?"

"Sure."

Peter Burke shrugged. "Then we're good."

After a while, he went on. "You're a consultant, and I own you for four years. You okay with that?"

Neal was still smiling. "Yeah."

AN:  
The end, finally.

I've had fun writing the story and I hope you've liked reading it. Thank you for all the reviews and comments. Your response was really encouraging. Since this has been the longest story I've written so far it was a bit of a personal challange... To lie awake at three o'clock in the morning because you have to find out how Peter and Neal can build up their . ?docid=30598686st in a certain chapter is a bit weird.

I hope you've noticed that I took your critics of my previous stories to heart: _hardly any italics_! And you were right - it's easier to read without the italics.

I can't give enough thanks to my beta VoicesInTheWind. She had invested so much of her precious time to review so many chapters. And thanks again to the other person (who doesn't want to be named) to help me identifying some logical inconsistencies in the first chapter.

I am really anxious to hear what you think about the end of the story.


End file.
